Vampire: No Rest for the Damned
by R-I-C-A-R-D
Summary: A Kindred attempts to take a nice holiday but discovers that there is no vacation from the Jyhad and is pulled into a night of 'festivities' when members of the Camarilla go rogue.
1. Vaccuum Sealed for Freshness

1. Vaccuum Sealed for Freshness

It was supposed to be a relaxing two week holiday in Miami. A nice little trip to get me away from all the crap I've had to deal with since the Embrace - vampire serial killers, zombies, hunters. Instead I ended up walking into another little disaster.

I arrived in Miami shortly after nightfall one Saturday night. Human associates of the Camarilla had carefully sealed me and my suitcase into a packing crate which had been loaded into the cargo hold of an American Airlines flight to Miami. This is how vampires are forced to travel across countries and internationally - sealed in lightproof boxes and carried on and off planes by trusted mortals. In addition, the Miami Kindred had ensured that no customs agents would be tempted to open up my crate to check for anything illegal. _Everything's fine, officer, just don't wake the vampire_.

The crate had been loaded into the rear of a van and transported to the Kindred-owned hotel where I'd be staying. As my eyes opened, I could hear the sound of crowbars levering the side off the crate. Then the wall of the crate fell away and artificial light poured in, hurting my eyes. I crawled out of the crate and pulled the suitcase out after me. One of the humans helped me to my feet and smiled. "Welcome to Miami," he greeted me. I stood and rose to my full height of just under six feet and stretched like a cat. There are worse ways to travel but being stuffed into an airless box and treated like so much cargo is pretty low on my list of favourite things to do.

We were standing inside the underground parking garage of the recently opened Casa Del Sol hotel. Why a Kindred would choose to name their hotel House of the Sun I have no idea. A well developed sense of irony, perhaps?

The human who helped me to my feet introduced himself as Steve. Didn't offer a last name. Steve No Last Name handed me a slip of paper with the address of the Miami Prince. Camarilla protocol dictated that I introduce myself to her at the earliest opportunity. It was a sign of respect when entering the domain of another Kindred and it allowed the Prince to spell out any specific ground rules that applied to their domain in addition to the usual laws surrounding the preservation of the Masquerade. I'd also take the opportunity to find out if there was any trouble likely to explode in the next couple of weeks. Something was always brewing somewhere. The Sabbat would be planning to destroy the Camarilla Kindred, the Anarchs would be plotting to overthrow the Prince and drive the Cam out of the city. And there was always the intra-clan intrigues that went on as elder vampires worked their lessers like puppeteers and made them do their bidding.

I picked up my suitcase and Steve No Last Name escorted me to the elevator. To be perfectly honest, I was feeling a little ansty. Alone, in a new city and with no weapons. I'd been advised before leaving home that it would be a good idea not to try bringing weapons into another's domain. I felt curiously ill at ease without the comforting weight of my .45 against the small of my back. I mentally shrugged. If any trouble broke out, I had my innate vampire abilities to fall back on.

Steve No Last Name was silent during the short ride to the lobby level. The elevator doors slid smoothly open and we exited into the hotel lobby. A large skylight that would let in massive amounts of sunlight during the day was set into the high ceiling and there were potted palm trees in each corner. My enhanced senses picked up the hint of fresh paint and the chemical fumes from the freshly laid carpeting. Steve No Last Name escorted me to the front desk where I was checked in by a pretty young blonde woman. The name badge pinned to her blouse identified her as Birgit. I could see the pulse of blood beneath the skin of her throat and felt my inner Beast stir. I needed to feed to keep the inner vampire happy. Go too long without a fresh shot of blood and I'd run the risk of the Beast slipping its chains and going berserk, taking me along for the ride. Which is not the optimum way to make a good first impression in a new city. "Have a lovely stay," Birgit said to me in German-accented English, bringing me back to the present. I smiled and thanked her. A porter arrived from the back office area and offered to take my suitcase up to my room. I looked sidelong and Steve No Last Name. He nodded and I let the porter take my bag.

I accepted my room key-card from Birgit and told Steve No Last Name I was going out to meet his boss. He handed me a key to the car that had been rented for me before I arrived. I prayed it was something better than the clapped-out Taurus I normally drove. I tossed the keyring from hand to hand and exited into the parking lot out front. I pressed the unlock button on the key fob and the indicator lights of the shiny black Mazda RX8 flashed. Nice. I got behind the wheel and started the car. Somebody had tuned the stereo to a hard-rock station and the modified sound system made it feel as though I was at a rock concert. I checked the address I'd been given. It was an anonymous office building from which the local Camarilla operated their legitimate and not so legitimate business activities. I consulted the handy map that was lying on the passenger seat and drove carefully into the stream of traffic.

Despite the relatively heavy traffic and motorists seemingly bent of committing vehicular homicide, it only took about fifteen minutes to reach the office building. This time of night, very few cars were left in the parking lot - likely they belonged to young go-getters pursuing the next big promotion. Either that or they were working late to escape annoying spouses. I parked the RX8 in an empty slot in the visitors' section of the car park, got out and locked the car. The reception area was empty so I walked to the elevators and pressed the up button. The Prince of the Miami Kindred had her office up on the top floor. Presumably so she could look out the windows at her domain while she savoured her power. Princes seemed to like doing that.

The doors hissed open and I got into the lift and pressed the button for the top floor. A few floors up the elevator stopped and the doors opened. Somebody else hailing a lift. A young man in a business suit entered and nodded at me. The doors slid shut and I looked carefully around the lift car for cameras and saw none. I smiled and turned to the young man. Before he could move, I had his head tilted back and was clamped onto his throat. I fed for several seconds and let him go just as the elevator stopped on the top floor. I exited and glanced back at the hapless young man. He was swaying back and forth and as I watched, slumped to the floor, dazed. The doors slid shut and I walked along the tiled floor to the closed door with the CEO sign on it. I stood before the door and rapped on it. A young sounding woman's voice bade me to enter.

Opening the door and stepping through I was greeted by a sparsely furnished office. The large space felt larger due to the windows that formed the rear wall. The office was furnished with a large desk of polished ebony and a few chairs. A bar stood off to one side with a trio of polished stainless steel stools topped with red leather cushions. A hulking great Kindred, dressed in a suit that did nothing to conceal the handgun under his arm stood to one side. He glared hard at me as I entered. He'd likely be the Sheriff, the vampire whose job it was to assist the Prince with the muscle of ruling and rid the Prince of any undesirables.

The Prince was, surprise surprise, standing with her back to me, gazing out the windows. Her slender arms were folded behind her back. She turned to face me and I admit to being somewhat surprised by her appearance. She stood just over five feet tall and her youthful heart-shaped face was framed by chestnut brown hair that fell to the collar of her blue suit. Her hazel eyes sized me up. The Prince of Miami didn't look a day over eighteen though I knew she was over two hundred years old. Somebody had put the bite on her before she was barely out of her teens and I bet a lot of people had paid the price for underestimating her abilities based on her little schoolgirl features. I pictured her in one of those schoolgirl outfits with the white blouse and red and black plaid skirt that are so popular on porn sites and had to bite the inside of my cheek to keep from smiling.

I bowed slightly and said, "Morgan Greenfield of the Toreador. I've come to ask for permission to operate in your domain."

The Prince gestured with one fine-boned hand to a chair in front of her desk, "Please, have a seat." Her voice was sweet and melodious and I was again reminded of a schoolgirl. One of those squeaky clean Catholic girls who turn out to be wild animals once they let go of their inhibitions. I sat in the comfortable leather chair and she sat behind her desk. She glanced at the screen of her laptop computer before looking at me. Behind her and to the left, the Sheriff crossed his arms over his massive chest and frowned in my direction.

"I am Sandrine of the Ventrue and the gentleman behind me is Louis of the Brujah, my Sheriff. Louis, be a dear and bring us two goblets of warm blood," the Prince said. Louis left silently, his posture suggesting he wasn't very fond of being treated as a butler.

"I don't think he likes me much," I observed as my fingers traced over the finely carved engravings in the arms of my chair. The Prince nodded. "Louis doesn't much like anybody but he's an excellent warrior and has saved my life on more than one occasion. Tell me, Morgan, what brings you to Miami?"

"A holiday. I needed to get out of town for a while and away from things back home," I said. Sandrine nodded and replied, "Yes, we've heard of the recent troubles in your part of the country. And your role in dealing with them. You may not be aware of this, but your stock in Kindred society has risen steadily since your Embrace."

"Really?" I tried to keep the satisfaction out of my voice. After working a crap office job and feeling like you'll never amount to much of anything, being told by the most powerful vampire in a city you've never been to before that your star is on the rise was...gratifying.

"Oh indeed, our intelligence apparatus likes to keep tabs on events throughout the country," the Prince waved a hand at the laptop. "The Nosferatu have quite the impressive dossier on you." As she spoke, the office doors opened and Louis arrived pushing a drinks cart with two blood-filled goblets. He was still glaring at me. The Prince took both goblets and handed one to me. Sandrine sat back in her chair and sipped from the goblet.

"So, you have come to Miami for a holiday?" her tone of voice suggested she thought there may be more to it than that.

"Yes, that's right. I'm not here to cause any trouble if that's what you're worried about," I shot a glance at Glaring Louis. If anything, he glared harder.

"Most excellent," Sandrine said and took another sip. I tasted my own goblet of blood. "Though I should warn you that the current political climate is not the most stable of late. The Anarchs have been making noise about throwing the Camarilla out of Miami. But that's standard practice with them. Last month, the Sabbat managed to assassinate the Malkavian Primogen," she nodded at my expression. "Yes, although the Sabbat didn't get much of a chance to celebrate. Every Malkavian in the city united to hunt down the killers and exacted bloody vengeance."

The Prince put down her empty goblet and, changing subjects, asked, "Tell me about yourself."  
"I imagine most everything you'd want to know would be in your dossier," I replied.

"True but I'm always curious as to the nature of a Kindred's Embrace," she said and went on, "I myself was the eldest daughter of a minor noble family in France. I was born in 1782 and was attending a rather grand celebration to see in the turn of the new century." I nodded. They had new year's eve parties back then?

"I was approached by an extremely handsome man who rather swept me off my feet and made me feel like I was the most important thing in the world," Sandrine's eyes lost focus as she went on, "He drew me away from the rest of the gathering and, as the clock struck midnight, Embraced me into the Ventrue. For the next century and a half, I stayed by his side as he taught me the ways of our kind and we brought new parts of the world under Camarilla control. He was slain by a hunter who almost killed me as well." Sandrine's eyes hardened and she continued in a low voice, "That hunter murdered my Sire and I tracked him down, fought him and when he was lying on the cold, wet ground, bleeding from multiple wounds, I turned him into the very thing he had dedicated his life to destroying."  
"Yeah," I replied, "We've done that ourselves. You shoulda heard the guy scream," I smiled and said, "After we turned him, we dumped him in a Sabbat neighbourhood."

"After I Embraced him and showed him what it was like to be one of us, I destroyed him," Sandrine stared off into the distance, remembering her Sire and her old life, most likely. Then she shook herself and said, "But I do tend to ramble. I was interested in the circumstances of your own Embrace."  
I shrugged. "I guess it's a fairly common thing, these days. I met a guy in a bar and he...seduced me. Of course the stupid bastard hadn't asked for permission from the Prince and ended up executed for it." Sandrine nodded. Under Camarilla law, a Kindred had to get permission to sire another vampire. The Anarchs claimed it was population control and railed against it. But their entire existence centred around railing against things.

I continued, "But rather than having me killed as well, the Prince ordered another Toreador, Amy to act as my guide and mentor in the ways of our kind. That was a little over three years ago."

"Ah, Amy. I haven't seen or heard from her in many years," Sandrine said.

"You know Amy?" I probably shouldn't have been so surprised.

"I knew Amy while she was still a mortal living in England during the eighteen hundreds. My sire and I were planning on bringing her into the Ventrue; her family's fortune would have been a boon to us. Unfortunately, one of the Toreador Embraced her instead," Sandrine shrugged as if to say What can you do?

Sandrine glanced at the grandfather clock ticking quietly off to one side and stood up. Behind her, Louis made to follow her. Without looking around, Sandrine said, "No need to trouble yourself, Louis. I just felt a sudden urge to be out and about this fine night." Behind her, Louis opened his mouth to say something then closed it with a look of resignation. I was betting that even after two centuries, Sandrine was still struck by the sudden impulses of teenagers. She turned to look at me and asked, "Morgan, do you have any plans for this evening?" I thought for a few seconds. I'd gotten enough blood to last the night unless I was forced to kill something and hadn't thought much about things beyond getting permission to operate.

"Prince..." Sandrine cut me off, saying, "Please, call me Sandrine."  
"Sandrine...I don't have any immediate plans," I said and stood.

"Excellent. There's a new bar that has recently began operating. I would quite like to take a look at it. Would you like to join me?"

Now, I'm not an expert in Kindred protocol but when a Prince invites you to hit the clubs, you don't refuse if you want to keep your existence privileges. I nodded. Sandrine said, "I'll just go and put on something more appropriate." She stepped quickly to a door that led, presumably to a private bathroom. Louis stood, arms folded, still glaring at me. "You know, keep frowning like that, and it'll leave some massive wrinkles," I said. Glaring Louis just stood. Glaring. If anything, his eyebrows came in even closer together until it looked as though he was possessed of a monobrow. I began to wonder if maybe he was mute. Then his mouth opened and he muttered, "You think you're pretty funny, huh?"  
"Oh my, it speaks!" I said cheerily.

"I've seen your kind before, young, brash, think you can just come in here and..." he trailed off as the door opened and Sandrine reappeared. She was now clad in a black, backless, short, figure-hugging gown and black high heels. Mascara and eyeshadow drew one's attention to her eyes, and a mortal would have a damn hard time looking away from them, once she met their gaze with hers. She twirled quickly, hair flying around her face and I could see a dragon tattooed over her bare back. "How do I look?" she asked.

"Damn, girl," I said. Nothing else came to mind.

"I'll take that as a compliment," she said and gestured for me to follow. I fell into step beside her. "Don't wait up, Louis," Sandrine said over her shoulder as she pushed the doors opened. He said nothing. I could still feel him glaring into my back as the doors closed behind us.


	2. Opening Pandora's Box

2. Opening Pandora's Box

Down at lobby level, Sandrine turned to me and asked, "Did you drive here?"  
"Yeah, and I gotta say thanks for hooking me up with the car,"  
"Think nothing of it," Sandrine waved away my thanks and said, "I recently acquired a Mercedes Benz SLK and I'm quite eager to see what it can do." Sandrine led me to the parking slot with the sign reading Reserved for CEO and unlocked the gleaming silver Merc parked there. I slid into the smooth leather passenger seat and Sandrine got behind the wheel. The engine rumbled like a big cat straining at its leash and Sandrine carefully reversed out of the parking lot. Sandrine's red-tipped fingers tapped restlessly on the steering wheel as she waited for a large enough gap in the traffic. When one appeared, she gunned the engine and the SLK leapt into the road, the cat off its leash and roaring. My head was pressed against the seatback through the sheer acceleration. Sandrine smiled as the rev counter wound up. Expertly, Sandrine wove the Merc through the traffic and we soon arrived at a place called Pandora's Box. Which sounded just this side of kinky, but maybe I'd spent too much time stalking kine in nightclubs.

The night was still fairly young and most of Miami's more hard-core night-owls hadn't come out to play yet so the car park still had a few free slots. Sandrine pulled the Merc into one and got out. I unbuckled the seatbelt and followed her. The neon-lit signage of the club depicted the lid of a box opening and closing. From behind the closed doors, I could faintly hear the beat of dance music. The human manning the velvet rope saw us coming and placed on hand on the brass hook at the end of the rope. He unhooked it as Sandrine and I drew near. "Good evening to you," the doorman said, inclining his head to the Prince. Likely he was a ghoul making nice with his master. Sandrine nodded wordlessly as the kine opened the door to the club. Inside, the volume of the music increased considerably and my supernaturally sharpened hearing turned itself down a few notches, to prevent deafening myself. The place was fairly packed, even this early in the night and humans danced energetically, their enthusiasm and zest for life almost palpable. Times like this, I almost wished I was still mortal, and able to fully enjoy this kind of life. On the other hand, having my personal biological clock set permanently at six months past twenty-eight and avoiding all my bits going saggy with age was a decent trade-off.

As Sandrine wove her way through the crowd to the bar, her vampiric presence caused many people to stop and look as she walked past. I doubt most of them were even aware they were doing it. The Presence discipline is a subtle thing and depending on the intent of the Kindred wielding it could inspire awe, attraction or bone-deep terror. Right now, Sandrine seemed to have it set to emit come to me signals. And indeed, a few men and even some women began drifting towards us before their partners yanked them back to their sides. Sandrine smiled slightly, fully aware of the impact she was having on the crowd. As she walked ahead of me, I saw the way her muscles moved smoothly beneath the skin of her back, the dragon tattooed there seeming to breathe in and out as though alive. Sandrine and I arrived at the bar and we perched on the red-leather bar stools. The woman behind the bar was mortal and looked about twenty, though it was likely that she, like the doorman, was a ghoul and could have been a great deal older. The monthly infusion of vampire blood a ghoul received staved off age and gave them superhuman strength and healing abilities for emergencies. Catch is, without a regular supply, the effects wear off and you begin to age again. Also, vamp blood is more addictive than any drug and a human would do practically anything to keep their masters happy. Hence, ghouls were often used to take care of a Kindred's dirty work or to run errands during the day time.

The bartender was about my height, and her long platinum blonde hair was shot through with streaks of red and black. Her green eyes observed me as I sat down. She was wearing a short black leather skirt and fishnet stockings and her lowcut white blouse gave me a good view of the love heart tattooed on her upper right breast. I bet she was a popular girl in high school.

"Sandrine, so good to see you again," the woman with a faint Southern accent. Her gaze fixed on me and she said in a throaty voice, "My name's Pandora," she drew the name out so it sounded like 'Pandorrrah.' "What can I call, you sugar?"

I offered her my right hand and she took it. I noticed faint scars inside her right wrist and wondered how close she'd come to dying before somebody had found her. "I'm Morgan. Nice place you have here."  
"Why, thank you, sugar. A girl so does love seeing her effort pay off." Beside me, Sandrine slipped from her stool and said, "I feel like hitting the dance-floor. Why don't you stay here and get to know Pandora better?" Before I could reply, Sandrine was already on the dance-floor and displaying some moves that would have properly scandalised her Victorian contemporaries. I couldn't help but smile at the display of pure teenage energy and rebellion.

"Ah, to be that age again," Pandora sighed. Yep, she'd been around the block a few times, all right, twenty-something appearance notwithstanding.

"So, how long have you...worked for the...company?" I said as man sat on the chair vacated by Sandrine. You really had to be careful of what you said around mortals. One wrong word in the wrong ear, and the next thing you know you're fending off hunters or worse, waking up with a stake in your chest and having to explain to the Prince just why you've felt the need to violate the Masquerade. I know, I've been to more than one trial. The man who'd just arrived leaned over to me and said, "Hey beautiful, how about I buy you a drink?" I locked eyes with Pandora's wide green ones before turning to Romeo. "Not interested," I said. He didn't take no for an answer. Normally I find persistence an endearing trait, but this guy was bugging me.

"Come on, just one drink, I won't even try to cop a feel or anything."

"The lady said 'no.' Now how about you quit hassling her before I have you thrown out?" Pandora said calmly. Her eyes had a look about them that suggested she'd rather enjoy throwing him out if he didn't leave under his own power. The man looked from me to Pandora and back again before he got up. He seemed to be trying to think of an adequate parting shot then decided to cut his losses and just left.

"That one's always been a problem," Pandora said quietly. "Every week he comes in, zeroes in on some unfortunate single girl then lays on his 'charm.' Gets right pissy when he gets told no."  
"Why don't you ban him?" I asked.

"He always buys enough booze justify his annoyance," she answered. "And as for how long I've served the Camarilla, nearly forty years. Sandrine...found me at a low point in my life and showed me that I could be something more than I was. She...saved me."

"I understand," I said quietly. That was when the explosion shattered the front windows and all hell broke loose.


	3. Bullets, Bodies and Blood, Oh My!

3. Bullets, Bodies and Blood, Oh My!

All at once, people were screaming and shrieking and running all over the place. Armed men stood outside the shattered windows and opened up on the crowd even as the echoes of the explosion dissipated. Outside I could see thick black smoke and I could smell the blood being spilled as the attackers mowed down the patrons. My nostrils flared and the Beast strained to get out. I tried to find Sandrine amid the panicking crowd but couldn't see her. Every vampiric instinct was pushing me to get amongst it and bust some heads but without a weapon, I'd be walking into a meatgrinder. Even as I thought that comforting thought, a man in biker's leathers opened up a with a heavy-calibre handgun and suddenly I was on the floor, blood pouring out of the bullet wound in my head. Discretion being the better part of valour, I decided to play dead while I assessed the damage. From behind the bar, I heard the comforting sound of a twelve-gauge shotgun being racked as Pandora moved to defend her establishment. The shotgun boomed twice before another shot rang out and I heard Pandora go down. By some minor miracle, the shotgun clattered to the floor by my side and I managed to get my hand around it. Faintly I could hear Pandora's harsh respiration and knew she was still alive.

As I sat up, I realised my vision didn't seem nearly as sharp as it was moments ago and the pain in my head cranked up a notch. I touched the fingers of my left hand to where the pain was emanating and realised the bastard had shot out my eye. Which sounds worse than it actually was. I concentrated and felt the wound begin to close up. At least I wouldn't bleed out in the next few minutes. Healing the eye totally would likely require draining one of the uninvited guests dry. I opened the tube of the shotgun and found three more shells. Bracing myself against the side of the bar, I popped up and unloaded on the nearest gunman, the attackers now moving into the club proper. A thought way back in my mind was struggling to form itself but for the moment, the pain, constant gunfire and screams of the dying made thinking difficult. _Sabbat?_ the voice in my head sent out. _Not now, damn it!_ I sent back. I gunned down the first attacker, racked the slide and was about to take out the guy who was stalking towards my position when the same bastard who'd shot me the first time, raised his hand cannon and hit me again. The bullet took me high in chest and shattered my collar bone. The pain combined with the loss of more of my vitae plus the scent of spilled human blood thick in my nose broke my hold over the Beast and it went berserk.

The next few moments are a blur. When I came back to myself, I was standing amid a pile of corpses and found the unnaturally pale body of a man clutched in my arms. Apparently after the Beast had cut loose, I'd beaten the attackers to death with my bare hands before grabbing the last guy and sucking the life out him. I blinked and both eyes responded. I opened my arms and the unwilling blood donor slithered to the floor with a thump. There was still a dull ache in my shoulder and I felt the bones knitting together. I stood upright and surveyed the carnage. Bodies of patrons were everywhere and the scent of blood was almost overpowering. Behind the bar, Pandora was on her feet, weaving slightly as she moved. She'd taken a round to the stomach and, normally, an injury like that would mean a slow and agonising death without medical attention. Being a ghoul though, her body would likely be using the vamp blood to heal the worst of the damage. She'd need a fresh dose to finish the job though.

That thought led me to Pandora's vampire master...the Prince. Who I'd lost sight of the moment the festivities broke out. I crossed to Pandora, stepping over the bullet-riddled clubbers and trying not slip in the blood. Pandora looked about to collapse so I got an arm around her and guided her to a nearby table. I shoved a body out of the chair and sat her down. She nodded gratefully. In the distance I could hear approaching police sirens and the differently-toned call of ambulances. "We can't be here when the cops arrive," I said.

Pandora started to rise and winced in pain. "I need to find Sandrine...if she's...gone.." The implications of the Prince's death would affect the entire city and likely spark all-out war between the Camarilla, Anarchs and Sabbat. "Sandine!" I yelled. Nothing. Oh, this was very bad. I tried to remember where on the dance-floor she had been when the fun started. Close to the window wall. Oh Jesus. "Sandrine!" I shouted again. I heard a door open and close and looked up to see Sandrine. She was a mess. Her dress was shredded and she was sticky with blood. Not hers though. I'd been around long enough to know the scents of each clan. "Morgan?" she asked, "Are you alright?"  
"Well, let's see. I was shot in the eye, then took a round that shattered my collar bone, _then _I lost control of the Beast and pretty much slaughtered your unwelcome guests. How are you?" Sandrine looked a bit stunned.

"I was knocked down by the initial blast, a lot of kine sheltered me from the worst of it," she looked around sadly, "When I realised what was happening, I used my Fortitude discipline to protect myself while I fought off the immediate threats. One of them fled to the bathroom where I just came from...dealing with him."

"Master...I need blood," Pandora said, sounding like a lost little girl. Sandrine crossed to her and comforted the younger woman. I turned away as Sandrine opened a vein and Pandora fed from her. The whole thing looked way too intimate to gawk at. I occupied myself inventorying the bad guys' firepower. The guy who'd shot me was armed with a Desert Eagle. Bugger me, and I thought the .45 I had at home was big. I picked it up, ejected the half-empty mag and patted down the body until I found two spare mags and a switchblade. The guy was about my height and my clothes were awash with my own blood. I quickly stripped off my old denim jacket, glad I'd left my leather one in the suitcase and also pulled off my T-shirt. The dead guy's shirt and jacket were a little large on me but I was too glad to be wearing relatively clean clothes to care.

Another gunman had what looked like an M4 assault rifle. I snagged that as well as a few spare mags. "Rock and roll," I muttered. I turned to see Pandora looking much better, the colour having returned to her face. She'd retrieved her shotgun and walked towards me. Out front, the first cop cars had pulled up. "Ah hell," I said. Sandrine looked perfectly calm which probably meant she had a solution.

"You two head out the back entrance and wait for me in the staff car park. I'll deal with the local constabulary," she ordered. She must have used a touch of her Dominate ability because I didn't even bother to protest. Pandora led me out the back where we waited.

While we waited for Sandrine to, presumably, warp the minds of the police, I asked Pandora if she knew of any reason why somebody would go to so much trouble to shoot her place up.

"Behind on your rent?" I asked as I leaned back against the wall.

"I own this place lock stock and barrel. Actually the Camarilla does," she answered, chewing on her lower lip. "Those guys weren't working for the Sabbat or Anarchs. At least I didn't recognise any of them."

"A thought was trying to make itself heard before but I was too messed up to think properly at the time..." I trailed off and let my mind wander. My eyes went unfocused as various possibilities came and went. Gang violence? No, these guys were too well equipped to be gangbangers. The Anarchs or Sabbat trying something? Possibly but I doubted they'd send only humans without any vamp backup. Something to keep in mind though.

I heard footsteps approaching from inside the club and stepped into the shadows, Pandora following me. I removed the fifty cal from my waistband and racked the slide. If whoever it was wasn't Sandrine coming back, they were going to get a nice, big surprise. The door opened and Sandrine appeared. I sighed and put the hand-cannon back on safe. "Cops?" I asked.

"I convinced them that there were no survivors and they're busy playing CSI back there," she answered. I looked Sandrine over. The girl was practically naked, the dress now nothing more than a few scraps of bloodied material that clung to her body, her pale skin daubed with drying blood. I removed my borrowed jacket and passed it to her. She accepted it gratefully and slipped into it. On her small frame, it was more like a trenchcoat. She shoved the sleeves up over her arms and hissed in annoyance as they slid back past her hands.

"So, what now?" I asked. I checked my watch. It wasn't much past ten.

"After I convinced the police to completely ignore my presence, I took a good look at our attackers' faces. They're members of Louis' security team," Sandrine said.

"Guh? Louis your Sheriff?" I said. I could feel my mouth gaping open like a fish. Pandora swore.

"Yes, Louis, my Sheriff," Sandrine said quietly. From where I was standing I could almost feel the rage emanating from her and the look in her hazel eyes bordered on murderous.

"Why?" I asked. The whole point of a Sheriff was to protect the Prince.

"I rather think he's trying to have me killed so he can take my place," Sandrine said, quieter still. Pandora rolled her eyes, "Louis couldn't run a chook raffle," she said. "He must be working with somebody else, somebody's pulling his strings." Sandrine nodded. Sadly, I was in the dark.

"The Sabbat would never ally themselves with those they see as being weak, so that leaves the Anarchs," Sandrine answered and began to walk away. Pandora and I followed.

"Why would the Anarchs help him take over?" I asked.

"My guess is that they want to use Louis and his people to kill me and destabilise the Camarilla so that they can force us out of the city," Sandrine said as we entered a darkened alleyway.

"And Louis doesn't realise he's being played?" I responded. The guy looked like a shaved gorilla but he couldn't possibly be that stupid.

"The head of the local Anarchs is a Toreador by the name of Cyrus," Sandrine explained.

"Ah," I said. We Toreador, over the centuries have acquired a reputation for being able to make people dance like puppets. I don't go in for covert manipulation - I like to do things the direct way. "And you think that Cyrus manipulated Louis into striking at you by letting him think they'd let him keep control of the city?"  
"Indeed," Sandrine said and fell silent. We'd come out of the alleyway and were standing on a street corner that, for now was deserted. Sandrine turned to Pandora. "Find a phone and assemble the rest of the clan," Sandrine instructed her. "Tell them to meet us at the safe location. Then find somewhere safe and wait for me to contact you."  
"Master, let me come with you.." Pandora stopped talking as Sandrine gently placed a finger on her lips. "Shhh. Assemble the clan and wait for my call. Know that you are special to me and that I'll be with you again soon." Pandora almost swooned under the influence of Sandrine's Presence then pulled away and left us.

"What was that about?" I asked.

"We have no way of knowing how far Louis' betrayal has spread through the Camarilla but I can trust the members of my own bloodline," she replied.

"You're sure?" I asked doubtfully.

"I Embraced each of them myself down through the years and the command of the blood is strong. They can be trusted."

I decided to put my faith in the Ventrue. Her own life was at stake after all and after two centuries, I imagine you learned how to protect yourself from the machinations of idiotic Brujah.


	4. Safehouse

4. Safehouse

"What's this safe location you mentioned?" I asked as Sandrine began walking again. She appeared to have a destination in mind and was moving at a fast walk. I had to jog to catch up.

"It is a haven I had constructed decades ago. I always knew that someday something like this would happen. The haven is well stocked with weapons, equipment, blood supplies and is known only to myself and those of my own blood."

"How far away is it?" I asked. Miami was a big place and unless we were already right on top of the place, it'd take too long to get to on foot. On the other hand, I wasn't in a great rush to confront who knew how many traitorous Kindred plus their Anarch allies. Damn Brujah, can't they just stick to breaking pool cues over people's heads and chanting anti-Camarilla slogans at their clan gatherings?

"We'll need a ride and in our present condition, I doubt a cab driver would be desperate enough for the money to carry us." Sandrine was right. We were both a mess. Dried blood painted the left half of my face and was caked in my hair. Still, the situation wasn't all bad.

Nearby was a 24 hour convenience store with a few people coming and going through the parking lot.

"Right, here's what we'll do," I said, "We hang around that car park until a single person comes out then we jack them."  
"Why don't we just call the police and ask them to arrest us while we're at it?" Sandrine said dryly.

"What you'll do is wait here while I...convince one of our good citizens to let us borrow their car," Sandrine said and left me standing beneath a streetlight. I moved away and into some nearby shadows. As I watched, Sandrine approached a man who was carrying a couple of shopping bags and spoke to him. I couldn't hear what was being said but the guy's head nodded mechanically, and I knew she'd Dominated him. Times like this, I wish I were Ventrue myself. Just narrow your eyes at a guy and boom, he drops dead from a brain aneurysm. Or impose your will on them and make them do your bidding. Ah well. The guy put down his groceries, fished something out of his pocket and gave it to Sandrine. She turned a waved me over. The guy picked up his shopping and just stood there staring blankly at nothing. I jogged up to Sandrine and she jingled the car keys at me.

Sandrine led the way to a big Ford F250 truck. I couldn't help but snicker as Sandrine struggled to get herself up into the elevated driver's position and cranked the seat forward as far as it would go. Eventually she got the truck started and I got in beside her. I glanced out the rear window and saw a gun rack mounted to the rear of the cabin. Goody, more guns.

During the drive to Sandrine's 'safe location,' I kept my eyes open for anybody who might be following us. By now Louis had to know that his goon squad was dead and that we weren't. Sandrine halted the truck outside a disused warehouse with rusted out railway lines set into the ground. This place looked as though it should have been condemned long ago. Sandrine got out of the truck and walked quickly to the warehouse. I shrugged and followed. Inside, the warehouse was a big, empty concrete slab with thin metal walls and a few lengths of rusty chain lying around. In the centre of the room was a freight elevator. Sandrine crossed to a control panel and laid her hand on it. A light on the panel burned green for an instant and the elevator clattered to life. She pulled the wire mesh screen aside. Sandrine hit the down button on the control panel and the elevator shuddered downwards.

"Basement level: assault rifles, shotguns, semi-automatic pistols, body armour and blood packs," she recited, "Thank you for shopping at Sandrine's Peacemakers."

The elevator rattled to a stop below ground. I stepped out of the lift cage and just looked around stunned for several seconds. You know that scene in The Matrix when Neo says, "We need guns, lots and lots of guns," and suddenly endless racks of firearms appear? It was kinda like that. As far as I could see, there were racks of weaponry, boxes of ammo, grenades, cold storage units containing blood supplies and shop mannequins clad in body armour.

"Holy God," I muttered. "What have you been doing down here, preparing for world war three?"  
"Something like that, yes," Sandrine said as she crossed to one of the armoured mannequins. She stripped off her bulky jacket and what was left of her dress and quickly strapped on the body armour that appeared to have been custom made to fit her slender frame.

I shook my head and headed to the nearest rack of firearms. I found a bulletproof vest and strapped it on. A shop dummy donated a long leather coat that felt a lot heavier than it should have. I carefully ran my fingers along the cool leather and felt several hard plates sewn inside the coat. When worn, the inner armour plates would absorb some damage. I got into the coat and belted it around me. I took a good look at my reflection in the shiny metal of one of the storage units. My left eye was mostly healed but was still heavily bloodshot. I counted myself lucky that the bullet hadn't plowed straight through my skull and scrambled my brain. Vampire or not, severe head injuries are tricky to come back from. I turned away from the storage unit and set to work arming myself.

I picked up a cut-down twelve-gauge pump shotgun and slung the nearby bandoleer of buckshot over my shoulder. Next I grabbed a Glock 21 .45 calibre pistol and strapped it around my waist. A pair of slightly curved Japanese style swords were next. Guns were all very well and good but the quickest way to slay a vampire was to get in close and take off the head. I slid the sheathed blades inside the belt of my coat and looked around to see what else I could make use of.

By now, Sandrine was looking less like a lost little girl who'd stumbled off the stage of a slasher flick and more like a battle-hardened soldier ready to kick ass and take names. She was clad head to toe in urban camo body armour and carried a sword in one hand a shotgun in the other. Strapped to her waist and around her shoulders were holsters containing heavy-calibre handguns and machine pistols. She had a yellow smiley face badge pinned to the front of her armour. "Come with me, I want to show you something special," she said and, as she turned away, I saw the words _Ask not for who the bell tolls for it tolls for thee_ on her rear armour plate. I followed her to a heavily scarred metal work bench and watched as she opened the rosewood case there.

Sandrine turned and held the open case out to me, like an offering at a ceremonial ritual. Inside the velvet-lined case was a beautifully polished double-barrel sawn-off shotgun. Runes that I didn't recognise were etched into the wooden grips and the metal smelled faintly of oil. "What is it?" I asked.

"A Dragon's Breath," Sandrine said and smiled at the look of shock mixed with joy that I felt spread over my face. A Dragon's Breath is a shotgun that, instead of buckshot, fires rounds of white phosphorous that will burn through pretty much anything. For a vampire hunter, this was the Holy Grail of weapons. They were quite rare and understandably, few Kindred felt safe knowing one of these death-dealers was circulating in their territory.

"I want you to have it," Sandrine said, and made to offer me the weapon.

"No, I can't accept this," I tried to protest. "This belongs with you-" Sandrine cut me off by shoving the case into hands. "You saved my life back there and this is the only way I can think to repay you."  
"I...thank you," I said as I removed the weapon from its case and examined it. "Where did you get this?"  
"It began life as a lupara in the service of the Sicilian Mafia in the 1920s," Sandrine said as she opened a metal box and removed what must have been the WP rounds. "Eventually, it fell into our hands and our gunsmiths fashioned it into a Dragon's Breath." Sandrine handed me about a dozen of the highly lethal shells. I pocketed them.

"What are these engravings?" Just holding the weapon, I could feel...some power in it.

"They help focus the owner's will, helps them keep focus in battle and keep control of the Beast within." I smiled as I gripped the weapon and pointed it at an imaginary enemy. "Don Corleone sends his regards," I said and laughed. I cracked open the gun and slot a pair of WP rounds into the barrels then clicked the gun closed. I carefully tucked the weapon inside my coat.

"Alright, so what now?"  
"The rest of my clan will be here soon," Sandrine said. She went to a phone mounted on one wall. "I believe I'll give dear old Louis a call, see if I can convince him to cease this ridiculous charade of his."  
"Yeah, good luck with that," I said.

Sandrine lifted the handset and punched in a number. After a few seconds somebody answered and she said, "Put me through to Louis...yes, I'm still alive you traitorous ingrate! Now, put me through to Louis!"

"Louis, dear, it's Sandrine...before you start frothing at the mouth, I'll just pop you onto the speaker so Morgan can participate," she pressed a button and Glaring Louis was on air.

"So, you managed to evade my little surprise at the club?"

"Seems like," I said.  
"Morgan...I should have known you dying was too much to hope for."  
"What can I say? Your boys screwed up. Next time you want overthrow the Prince, you might consider taking a more active role in the proceedings. Not that there'll be a next time."

"Louis, dear," Sandrine broke in, "I'm not fond of having to kill my own personnel, so why don't we just cut to the chase, hmm? Meet me on neutral ground and we'll settle this the old fashioned way."

"Just how stupid do you think I am?" Louis replied.

"Do you really want an answer to that?" I quipped. "Come _on_, man! Do you really think that the Anarchs are gonna let you keep control of the city? If you're so willing to betray your own Prince, how can they trust you?"

"You think you have me all figured out, don't you?" he said, "I fully anticipate that Cyrus will move to eliminate the Camarilla as a whole which is why even as we speak, my people are raining down fire on the Anarchs. By the time dawn arrives, I _will_ be in control of this city."

I sighed to myself. Sandrine shook her head and answered, "There's still the small matter of me, Louis."  
"Oh yes, I forgot to mention, I've known for a few years now about your supposedly secret bolt-hole. Some of my boys are on their way right now, to...eliminate you."

"Bring 'em on," I said. Sandrine hung up, then dialled another number. "This is Sandrine. Where are in the nine hells are you?" she barked.

"My Prince...we have encountered heavy resistance a few blocks away...Louis.." the voice gave a strangled cry as something blew up. "It appears the rest of my clan is in battle with Louis' people. Come."


	5. Blaze of Glory

5. Blaze of Glory

We ran back to the freight elevator and rode back up to the ground floor. We could hear gunfire from somewhere nearby and then, another explosion. "Oh joy, somebody's got a grenade launcher or something," I muttered and headed for the truck. Sandrine gunned the engine and we headed towards the sounds of the gun-battle. It looked as though a number of Sandrine's Ventrue were pinned down at a nearby empty shopfront. The front of the shop was all shattered glass and pulverised brick. Thick smoke and dust hung in the night air. We bore down on a group of renegade Kindred, who looked to be mostly Brujah and Gangrel. They turned to look at us, looks of shock stamped on their faces. I pointed the Dragon's Breath out the window at the nearest one and triggered one barrel. He went up in flames and ran around screaming like a banshee. As he passed by his companions, the flames leaped from one to another and in the space of seconds, three of them were aflame. The rest scattered as the truck slammed through human infernos. Ashes exploded in all directions. Sandrine and I got out of the truck as the surviving Ventrue rallied to our position. They were from a diverse range of ages and backgrounds. The tall African-American one raised an assault rifle to his shoulder and fired a burst. A charging Gangrel was knocked back.

"My Sire, how do you fair?" inquired another as though we were attending a royal garden party rather than streetfight. Sandrine swung her blade at the head of a Brujah who'd managed to get in close and he went down before bursting into flames.

"Me? Oh I'm just peachy, thank you _so _much for asking!" she snapped as yet another Gangrel charged at us.

"You guys aren't real bright are ya?" I said and shot him point-blank with the twelve-guage pump. The Gangrel went down hard, his Fortitude protecting him from the worst of the damage. I calmly unsheathed a blade and ran him through the heart. He lay twitching for a few seconds before becoming so much ash. Then it was over.

As I stood ankle deep in the piles of ash, I had to ask, "Sandrine, just what have you been doing to have so many people wanting to kill you?"

She shrugged and replied, "It is the nature of the Jyhad. I fear that, one way or another, my time as leader of this city's Kindred has come to an end." One of her people placed his hands on her shoulders and said, "Do no speak such, my Sire. We can purge our city of the traitors and make the Camarilla strong again!" He had a dangerous gleam in his eye, the look of a true fanatic.

"Ah, Gregor, your commitment to our sect is heartening but until we can eliminate Louis, none of us are safe," she said.

I checked my watch. It was just past midnight. Sandrine turned to one of her people, "Somebody give me a phone." The fanatic handed her one and she flipped it open. As Sandrine dialled a number, the other Kindred spread out to make sure there was nobody coming towards us.

"Louis, so glad to hear your voice," Sandrine said. "I'm afraid your little attack on my people has ended rather badly. May I suggest, once again, that we meet like civilised adults and settle things face to face rather than wasting each other's time?"

"Oh? Why I would be delighted to meet you alone in one hour. Fare thee well," Sandrine smiled and clicked the phone shut. "He's finally agreed to meet. Said he'll meet me at the old meat packing plant in one hour. Come alone, he said. Come unarmed, he said."  
"Gee, good thing it's not a trap then?" I said and rolled my eyes. "If we give him that hour, he'll have the place packed with bad guys and he'll likely order them to kill us as soon as we arrive."  
"Agreed. We go now, and secure the site ourselves."

The meatpacking plant was set in a weed-filled lot and surrounded by a high chain-link fence topped with razor wire. A rusting metal sign on the fence informed visitors that the site was condemned and trespassers would be prosecuted. The place looked like it'd make a good set for an episode of Dexter. I could easily picture Michael C. Hall's title character strapping down some unfortunate to a stainless steel table before going to work on him with some bright shiny knives.

Sandrine and I got out of our 'borrowed' truck a few blocks away and walked. Sandrines clan-mates had arrived in a large van and were with us on foot also. I burned some vitae, using my Auspex to detect anybody around. My sharpened senses picked up the not-so-sweet scent of dog crap and the unwashed body of a homeless guy up the street by no other vamps. Goody.


	6. I shot the Sheriff

6. I shot the Sheriff...

The other Ventrue took up positions in and around the building. I stuck close to Sandrine who waited in the shadows near the parking lot. There were fifty minutes until the appointed time. God, I hate waiting around. Sandrine offered me a blood pack she'd brought from the not-so-safe safe house and I took it gratefully. Blood that had been in storage for a while was never going to be as potent as the stuff that came from a warm body but it was either this or feed on the rats I could hear scurrying around. I drained the bag and stuffed it into my coat pocket. I didn't much care about littering, sue me, but leaving empty blood bags lying around could damage the Masquerade. To pass the time I checked the action of each of my firearms, making sure they cycled properly. I also reloaded the spent WP round from the Dragon's Breath that I'd shot earlier. That done, I turned to Sandrine who was staring off into the distance, chewing her lower lip. "So," I said quietly, "What do you think made Louis want to rebel?"

"There could be any number of reasons," Sandrine said, still looking out into the night. Overhead, clouds blanketed the sky, blotting out the moon and stars. "Such as?" I prodded.

"He's Brujah. Their bloodline has always tended towards violent outpourings of anarchy. I thought by making him my Sheriff, I could keep a close watch on him."

"Hey, don't blame yourself," I said and placed a hand on her arm. I pulled the hand away quickly, hoping my impropriety towards the highest ranked local Camarilla Kindred wouldn't result in me being decapitated.

"No, part of my role is to make sure things like this aren't allowed to happen in the first place. I was too wrapped up in my own affairs to notice things going wrong right in front of me." Sandrine closed one small hand into a fist and hammered it against her thigh. Then she raised a small radio to her lips and asked, "Do you see any movement, Ana?" Ana was a young-looking Ventrue we'd left a few blocks away to act as a lookout. "Nothing, my Prince...wait. I see a carload of humans I recognise as being part of Louis' crew."

"At last, the game is afoot," Sandrine said.

"Should I take them out?" Ana asked.

"No, let them come," Sandrine instructed.

"Understood," Ana clicked off. Sandrine switched the radio to the frequency shared by the others at the meat-works and spoke into it, "The are coming. Prepare yourselves."  
"For the Ventrue! For the Camarilla!" cried the fanatic. I winced at the ear-splitting volume.

"Gregor's a little...over-zealous," Sandrine said apologetically. I shrugged, "So long as he doesn't kill us by mistake."

I could hear the sound of a car engine drawing near and a red BMW pulled into the lot. Shame about the expensive wheels, I thought as I hefted the Dragon's Breath. I pointed the weapon at the driver's side window, feeling a mixture of sadness and determination as I recognised the driver as Steve No Last Name. And he'd seemed like such a nice guy, too. I triggered one barrel, and watched dispassionately as Steve No Last Name erupted into flames. He managed to stagger out of the car, arms flapping before crumpling to the ground. The interior of the car was alight with fire as the other three occupants scrambled to get out. I hit the girl in passenger side with the second round and winced as her shrieks hammered into my head like spikes. The stench of burning human flesh wafted over to us on the breeze. Beside me, Sandrine opened up with her machine pistol and a third human went down. A loud crack from somewhere in the meat-works sounded and the last fell to the ground, shot by a sniper rifle.

I shook my head sadly as I reloaded the gun. "Poor stupid bastards never had a chance."

A second car engine made itself heard and soon, another vehicle, this one an old Firebird was pulling into the lot. The man of the hour, Louis, himself finally arrived. He got out and strode towards us, glancing at the still-burning Beamer and the charred corpses. Behind him was yet another Gangrel, this one built like an Olympic weightlifter. He walked hunched over as though he'd spent too much time in his bestial form and couldn't stand upright anymore. Brujah and Gangrel stopped about ten feet away. Sandrine stood with her arms across her chest and I stood slightly behind and to the right of her. If it came down to shooting our way out, I could use my Celerity to unload the Dragon's Breath faster than either of the renegades could move. Of course, being Brujah, Louis _also_ had Celerity and likely could move even faster than I.

"So, here we are," Louis said. He'd removed his suit jacket and the strap across his gun butt was off to allow him to quickly draw his weapon. The Gangrel stood with his arms hanging almost to the ground and growled deep in his chest. I would have said that it looked like somebody had Embraced a gorilla, but that would be an insult to gorillas.

"Why have you done this?" Sandrine said, sounding like a mother who's utterly dismayed by her child's actions.

"Why?" Louis replied angrily, "Because you don't have what it takes to drive the Anarchs and Sabbat out of the city. My actions will have saved many more lives in the long term."  
"Right, tell that to the poor saps who got shot up at the club earlier tonight," I said.

"Collateral damage," Louis said, without looking at me.

"You animal," Sandrine hissed.

"You're weak, Sandrine. You don't possess the spine to do what has to be done," Louis snarled and moved toward her. I snapped up the Dragon's Breath and pointed it at Louis' head. The Gangrel roared and charged at me. Louis raised a hand and it pulled up short, slavering and drooling. I flicked a glance from Louis to the...thing snarling like a rabid dog and decided to point the business end of the death dealer at the Gangrel. It didn't so much as blink.

"While I've been having _so _much fun butchering your people, at some point we're gonna have to sort this out...preferably before dawn," I reminded Louis.

"It is clear that we cannot reach an agreement that will benefit all parties-" Sandrine began.  
"No shit," interrupted Louis.

"So I have decided to settle things the old fashioned way. A duel. A contest of strength and skill between two warriors," Sandrine finished. I blinked my eyes slowly. Much as I liked Sandrine, you couldn't call her a warrior. Her Fortitude Discipline aside, Louis was likely to demolish her. He knew it, too, the bastard, and was grinning widely.

"Morgan, I choose you as my champion," she said, in a tone of voice more suited to discussing the weather. My head whipped around so fast, my neck popped. "What?" I hissed.

"You must be joking," Louis said. "I doubt she could fight her way out of a wet paper bag without all those guns."

I decided to let that one pass. He was more or less right. Going full out with my Celerity and Presence I could do a real number on most anybody with my fists or a decent blade but I wasn't so sure I could take Louis.

"On the other hand...Alonzo, take her," Louis glanced at the Gangrel. The man-beast smiled, revealing rows of sharpened teeth and drooled some more. Oh bugger.

"The rules of engagement are simple," Sandrine said. "No firearms." Ah crap.

"Full use of Disciplines and melee weapons is permitted. The victor will earn the right of domain over the city of Miami. The defeated party will retire from said city and never return."

I backed away from the hulking vampire and handed my weapons to Sandrine for safe keeping. I debated whether I should keep the leather coat on then decided I needed everything that stood between my flesh and those claws. The Gangrel flew at me, claws ripping through the leather and I staggered back from the sheer ferocity of the attack. It swung again, huge looping swings that looked ungainly as hell but had a lot of power behind them. I ducked the next swing and drew one of my blades. Alonzo parried the first strike with his bare arm, the wound closing instantly. He snarled and grabbed the razor-sharp blade in his hand and yanked it from my grip. Blood oozed out of his clenched fist but he didn't seem to feel any pain.

I concentrated and felt the world slow down as my Celerity kicked in. Alonzo seemed to be moving in ultra-slow mo and I had plenty of time to avoid his next attack and kick his legs out from under him. He went down hard and I jumped on him, drawing the spare blade and raised it over his chest, blade pointed downward. He managed to throw me off and I flew backward. Alonzo got to his feet and was sprinting at me even as I hit the ground and rolled to my feet. I couldn't keep this up. I was faster but he was tougher and stronger. All he needed was a decent shot at my head and it'd all be over. Even as the thought passed through my mind, his claws caught me in the right forearm, shredding the leather and lacerating my arm. I cried out as blood pumped from severed veins. I could feel myself growing weaker as the blood splattered onto the hard, uncaring ground. The Beast within rattled its chains and, after breaking free once already, its hold on me was stronger now. I allowed myself to flop back onto the ground and law limply. Alonzo's Beast was so far gone, he wouldn't be able to resist such tempting prey. I hoped.

As I lay on the ground, I willed the arm to heal and watched as the Gangrel stalked up to me and halted by my side. Drool splattered onto my stomach. Ick. _Just come in a little closer, you overgrown freak show._ Alonzo raised his head and howled in victory. _Now!_

I surged upright, rammed the blade through Alonzo's groin and out again - he was a vampire but he was still male and, as he stood shrieking and clutching his ruined parts, I gripped the katana two-handed and swung it like a baseball player hitting a home run. The Gangrel's shaggy head flew into the night as his body crumpled up and fell forward. A flare, and all that was left was ash.

I retrieved the blade taken by Alonzo and stood staring at Louis. "I believe we had a deal. Now piss off out of here before you really make me mad," I said. Sandrine was quietly applauding.

"You and your antiquated ways," Louis said and shook his head. Then he turned to me, drew his handgun and emptied the mag into my chest. Each impact hit like a hammer, even through the body armour and as his gun ran dry, I simply stood and looked at him. He gaped back at me. "It's called Kevlar, you moron," I hissed and flew at him faster than I had ever moved before. He tried to shift into his own Celerity but before he could, I'd lashed out with both blades and he was on the ground writhing in agony, his legs gone at the knees and pumping out blood at an alarming rate.

As Louis lay screaming and bleeding to death I crossed to Sandrine and took back the Dragon's Breath. "With your permission, I'd like to finish this." Sandrine nodded. "Louis broke the terms of our bargain when he fired upon you. Protocol is satisfied."  
I extended my arm and, before I consigned him to the flames, said to Louis, "Prince Sandrine sends her regards."


	7. Epilogue

Epilogue

"...Police are still investigating what spokesmen have called 'a night of shocking gang-related violence' including the attack on recently opened nightclub Pandora's Box and a gun battle at the abandoned meat-works. Police are unsure as to the causes of last week's atrocities and are urging anybody with any information to contact the Miami Police Department-" I pointed the remote at the TV in my hotel room and clicked it off.

"Gang-related violence? Really, is that the best the Camarilla can come up with to cover up what happened?" I asked. Beside me, Sandrine, clad in her usual business suit, shrugged and said, "We considered concocting a tale about Mexican people smugglers and the Colombian drug cartel but decided gang-related violence was an easier sell."

It was my last night in Miami, and, after the events following my arrival, Sandrine and I had become close friends. She'd taken time off from her restructure of the Camarilla to say goodbye to me personally. We stood and she embraced me fiercely. As she released me and stepped back, I felt a prickle in my eyes and a tear slid down my cheek. As I wiped it away I said, "You're like the little sister I never had. I'm gonna miss you."  
"And I you," Sandrine answered. "If you ever decided to relocate here permanently, there will always be a place for you here."

The End.


End file.
